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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22753114">End of the Road</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiesuelupin/pseuds/josiesuelupin'>josiesuelupin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Human!Stiles, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Omega!Stiles, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Threesome - M/M/M, alpha!chris argent, alpha!peter hale, brothel, slave!Stiles, wolf!scott mccall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:09:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,072</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22753114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiesuelupin/pseuds/josiesuelupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t always been in pain and scared for what the future held for him. There was a time in his life that he could remember feeling some sort of semblance of peace. Maybe it had all been a lie, something the masters had done to make them more compliant. He didn’t know; what he did know was that there had been joy in his life.</p><p>Stiles has hit the end of the road and been sold to an infamous brothel. He is sure this means death. But perhaps there is more secrets about his new owners and their place of business than he originally thought.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Allison Argent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>385</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hellion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guys! So here is my new story... I really hope you enjoy it. I know things might be a little shaky. I am still ironing out the details and keep going back and forth between ideas. Sorry about that...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t always like this.</p><p>He hadn’t always been in pain and scared for what the future held for him. There was a time in his life that he could remember feeling some sort of semblance of peace. Maybe it had all been a lie, something the masters had done to make them more compliant. He didn’t know; what he did know was that there had been joy in his life.</p><p>There had been meals full of brightly colored food, flowers that grew just outside the window of his small bedroom, and small wooden cars he would roll across the old rug in front of the fireplace. He could remember the smile on his father’s face as he watched his son explore; he remembered chasing after a man with brown hair that had been sprinkled with grey whose hands held a warmth that he often was comforted by.</p><p>There had been no fear for his master’s then; there had been no need for him to hesitate in their presence as he considered what he must do in order to keep them calm. When they reached for him, there had been no flinch or hesitation for their touch. Instead he had sought it out, seeking for the feeling of a hand in his hair or gripping his shoulder in a guiding movement.<br/>
But he had just been a boy then. A boy who had not only been foolish, but utterly naïve. He hadn’t realized then just how much of the world he had been kept blind to. For him, the small and outdated home that lay just beyond the large and grand estate of his master’s he’d grown in had been all he knew for the first ten years of his life.</p><p>Thinking of that home was the only thing that kept him grounded. The memories had begun to fade after a decade away, but sometimes, if he retreated far enough into the recesses of his mind, he could remember sounds and smells that were now unfamiliar to him. They served not only as a reminder of a life he had once lived, but also of the cruel whims of people who thought themselves better than him and those like him.</p><p>The thought of home brought him peace that was laced with a deeply painful pang of longing. He wanted to go home. He just wanted to go home.</p><p>He’d never go home again.</p><p>The panic he was feeling was nearly overwhelming. His chest heaving slightly as he desperately tried to pull air into his lungs without bringing any true attention to himself. He had gotten very skilled at hiding the anxiety that had plagued him since he was a small boy over the years.</p><p>It was better to not bring unnecessary attention to a weakness they could use against him.</p><p>However, it was far more difficult to keep himself calm when he was aware of what was occurring in just the other room. He couldn’t make out the voices but knew that he was being sold to people he had been taught to fear from a very young age. His current master had pulled his arms tight behind his back and bound his wrists painfully with some rope that he had no doubt had come from the stable instead of the smooth and treated strands of rope that were designed for this purpose. He had long since lost feeling in his fingertips and the frayed edges of the rope felt as if they had probably drawn blood to the surface.</p><p>His ankles, at least, had been left in a more traditional bind; allowing him the ability to shuffle along but preventing him from being able to move at any sort of productive pace. His master had ordered him dressed, something that had been rare for him after he was sold, but there was a sinking suspicion now that he had done this so that the people who had come to purchase him wouldn’t be able to see the bruising and cuts that ranged from weeks old to fresh from the most recent beating he had received. The hood that had been pulled over his head meant he had no way to judge who was in the room nor for how long he had been left on the cool wooden floor.<br/>
It felt like days, though it was more likely simply hours.</p><p>Air was drawn in deeply and shakily, and he forced himself to instead focus on fleeting thoughts. His father’s face and the feel of a warm fire on his chilled skin. Anything to keep him from breaking down fully. It was stubborn, but he was going to hold onto what ever pride he had left. He wasn’t going to let them see just how much he had been broken down.</p><p>A door opened then, and the sound of heavy boots clicked on the wooden floor. The steps weren’t those of his master, he knew that—but a few moments later his followed the strangers into the room.</p><p>“He doesn’t look like much of a threat currently, Deucalion. You’re telling me that this scrawny thing is what bested you?” The voice was gruff but obviously amused. He was tempted to speak up and insist he wasn’t as scrawny as he seemed—but even he knew that statement would only result in a kick to the chest and it was already hard for him to breathe.</p><p>He was also smart enough to hear the clear irritation in Deucalion’s voice, “He didn’t best me.”</p><p>“He did get nearly two towns over before you caught him.” If he didn’t know better, he would say the stranger almost sounded—impressed.</p><p>“Whatever the case may be. I imagine the guards gave him quite a beating once caught, and you’ve clothed him which is making me suspicious coming from you.”</p><p>Deucalion let out a sudden grunt of frustration, “The price I gave you is more than fair.”</p><p>“Not if he’s damaged. I might have to put him down and you know how I dislike purchasing something I cannot get a return on investment in.”</p><p>It sounded like a threat to Deucalion, and it was something he had never heard someone do to the master. At least not in his presence. Though it also felt strange for his worth to be debated when he was sure they knew he could hear everything they were saying. Deucalion spoke then, “I will give you twenty percent off what I am asking. For your trouble.”</p><p>The scoff he heard then was full of humor and it made his blood boil. He didn’t like being bartered on like some used piece of equipment. His first master would have never allowed something like this to occur. “He’s a flight risk, obviously malnourished, and beaten…” The stranger was growing irritated. “If he were to recover, which remains to be seen, his body isn’t attractive enough currently to fetch a good price with my clients.”</p><p>Okay, now he was really irritated. Damaged goods and not even worth his stance as a pleasure slave? Why didn’t the man just put him down then?</p><p>“Take forty percent off. That is fair.” The man spoke to his master, his voice final. “No one else will take him as you are well aware.”</p><p>“Fine.” Deucalion’s voice was bitter as he spat the word out. “But for a price like that I will not pay for any of the repair costs on this... thing.” He sounded like he was mocking the stranger.</p><p>Feet began to move again, this time closer to him and it caused all the muscles in arms and back to tense. If he could see he would have tried to push as far away from the unknown man as he could. The deal was done, and it suddenly dawned on him exactly what had just occurred.</p><p>He’d been sold to the last place a slave went before their death—a brothel.</p><p>With a label like that, he could never be resold as a high-end pleasure slave and he would spend the rest of his days being used until he no longer could be. It was a death sentence either way and for the first time since he had run, he felt himself begin to quiver with fear. His reality was setting in and he knew there were only two ways out of this. He needed to run, or he needed to die.</p><p>A strong hand curled around his bicep and he felt himself being hoisted up to his feet. He was still extremely week from his beating the night before, but somehow, he found it in himself to start flaying around in a desperate attempt to get away from the man. He threw his head back and collided with something solid.</p><p>“Fuck!”</p><p>He was feeling extremely dizzy then, but a sense satisfaction came over him when he felt the hand around his bicep loosen. It allowed him to step forward before he was colliding with the floor and landing directly on his chest. It knocked the wind from his lungs but still he squirmed and struggled. He knew he had no chance of getting away, but he was making a point. He wouldn’t be tamed so easily.</p><p>Deucalion’s voice was harsh, “I told you to be careful with him.”</p><p>In the next moment, hands were on his biceps again and pulling him up. “He’ll learn.” The man said before his hood was being ripped off. He blinked at the sudden brightness, though his left eye seemed to still be nearly swollen shut and he was only able to focus on his surroundings with his right eye.</p><p>The stranger he had heard but not seen was a man who was nearly triple his size and he realized exactly how outmatched he had been when he was flaying about like some sort of idiot. His hair was a rich brown and slicked back as if with some sort of gel and his facial hair could nearly be called unkempt. Though there was a sort of smug feeling that came over him when he saw the slight dripping of blood from the man’s nose. So he had gotten him good.</p><p>The next moment he was being pulled back against the man’s broad chest, a muscled arm wrapped across his chest to hold him into place. A vial appeared before his face and he realized begrudgingly what the man was attempting to do. “No!” It was the first word he had said, and he felt the man’s hold tighten on him as a result. “You are a fucker—I fucking hate you. I hate you!”</p><p>Somehow, as if the man had a third arm or perhaps, he was simply very skilled with what he was doing, the man had managed to get his mouth open and shove the contents of the vial into his mouth. Forcing his jaw shut, the man’s voice was in his ear. “Swallow.” He demanded, “Swallow or the pain will get worse… You don’t want that.”</p><p>He was right about one thing; he didn’t want that. So, he swallowed, forcing the vile liquid down his throat. It was only a matter of moments before he felt the effects come over him. He’d had it a few times before, once even by Deucalion. It was a means of forcing him to be pliant without forcing him into a slumber.</p><p>Legs gave out and it was only the strength of the man that kept him from tumbling back to the floor and injuring himself even further.</p><p>“Thank you for your time, Deucalion. I believe it is time that I take my new purchase and return home. It is growing late in the evening.”</p><p>He gave a look at the master who had just sold him and the look on Deucalion’s face was arrogant and full of a triumph that he wanted nothing more than to rid him of. He was swept up then and pulled bridal style into his new owners’ arms. He would normally protest but the aid of the potion he’d been given meant he could do nothing but lull his head to the side, cheek pressing into the warmth of his broad chest.</p><p>Without another word, they were walking. It was brisk and full of purpose. The only good thing was that the potion had not only taken his fight away, but also pushed the looming panic attack to the back of his throat. Forcing it down and preventing him from revealing his only true weakness to the other. If he could keep those secrets to himself, then perhaps he could survive for a little while longer.</p><p>The mysterious man took them to a black SUV, before he was placing him on the back seat and crawling in next to him. “Drive.” He spoke to another man in the front seat before he was reaching up to the front seat to find something, he must have left up there.</p><p>“How did it go?” The man asked as he started the engine and began to drive them away.</p><p>There was a snort, “How the fuck do you think? It’s Deucalion.” The man was sitting back in his seat then, pulling a knife with him. It caused him to cease up in his seat despite the calming effects of the potion, worried the man was about to punish him for his display.</p><p>“He doesn’t look good.”</p><p>“No. He fucking doesn’t.”</p><p>The man forced him to bend forward in his seat before he felt the cool metal of the knife brush against his back. He jerked then, using all the energy he could to get past the intense sedative he had been given. The man placed a hand on the back of his neck. “Calm down, kid—I’m just getting your restraints off. Your fingers look fucking blue.”</p><p>“Did you give him a sedative?” The man driving asked.</p><p>The knife was working at the rope, “Yes, I had to. He’s a little hellion.” He wanted to snort at that. If only the man only really fucking knew what he’d gotten himself into. The rope was free in the next moment, allowing his arms away from their position at his pack. He felt his shoulder pop as he pulled them forward and then a sudden rush of pain as blood returned to his fingers. His sound of pain was muffled by him biting down on his lip, and it caused him to be dizzy.</p><p>“Hospital?” The driver asked, his voice sounding concerned.</p><p>The man was then coaxing him onto his back, strong fingers griping his arms and laying them to his chest. A hand moved to his neck then, two fingers pressed to the tender flesh there. Checking his pulse—he had to be.</p><p>After a moment of silence, he spoke, “I don’t know, Chris. He seems alert. His pulse is good.” He paused a hand move across his hair, almost in an affectionate manner, but that didn’t seem to make any sense.</p><p>“If he’s alert, we’ll call the doctor over. I hate taking the slaves to the hospital unless we must. We can always call an ambulance there.”</p><p>The man who had purchased him seemed to agree with the man named Chris and he felt a sudden relief come over him. The last hospital stay had been horrible for him. They’d basically put him in a coma in order to keep him quiet and compliant while he supposedly healed. Though it felt more like a week of agony than it did a week of healing.</p><p>“I can’t get a read on him right now. He fought me but then I gave him the sedative… he could be in worse condition than he’s letting on but the sedative has ceased any sort of reaction to pain he might have.”</p><p>There was pain of course, but he still felt the panic at the top of his throat, the panic would be giving him just enough of a surge to keep going even if he was in severe pain. His eyes moved to meet the blue of the strangers, seeking for some sort of look that would reveal the man’s intentions. But instead he was met with nothing. He was guarded and incredibly difficult to get a good read on. His eyes moved to him then and he was bold enough to keep his gaze, “Either way. We’ve got quite a little fighter here.” He grinned, clearly amused.</p><p>Chris chuckled in the front, “You always did like the ones that remind you of you.”</p><p>Blue eyes were still intent on him, “What’s your name? I need something to call you.”</p><p>He hesitated, unsure if he should give it over. But what did it matter? It wasn’t as if the man could use his name against him. It took every ounce of his will, but he managed to get the name out, “Stiles…”</p><p>The man brightened slightly, “Well hello there Stiles. My name is Peter Hale and the man up there is Chris Argent. We’re your new owners.”</p><p>Stiles’ eyes widened slightly as he realized exactly who he was with and where he was headed. Horror stories were spoken about the Lupo House, of how the slaves there were treated as nothing more than objects and used until they broke. It was one of the worst places to end up and he could barely keep himself contained as he realized that he really would no doubt end up dead or worse.</p><p>The struggle started again then and Stiles sat up abruptly and sought for a handle on the door only to discover there seemed to be none in the back of the car. His fear helped him push through the sedative. Peter reached forward, hands gripping his forearms and forcing him to somewhat cease his struggle.</p><p>Chris let out a breath, “He’s obviously heard.”</p><p>Peter was struggling to get him calmed down, Stiles could see that. All he knew was that he wasn’t going to give up so easily, not when he now knew exactly where he was head. “Chris… Hand me the fucking… cloth.” He grunted out, hand out as he sought out what he was looking for.</p><p>In the next moment he felt a soft fabric pushed to his mouth and nose and he was forced to inhale whatever it was the man obviously wanted him to inhale.</p><p>It only took a moment for his world to fade to black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Tangy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Why the fuck did he care if Stiles wanted to eat it or not? He would have just expected to be ordered to eat it and that was it. Stiles knew that they were just trying to make him comfortable and he didn’t want to be made to be comfortable. Not when he knew how it would inevitably end up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter two here for you. I managed to get another chapter out because I am on bedrest because of a bacterial infection of my throat (which isn't strep but is kind of... it's weird). I appreciate the love for the first chapter and hope that this continues your desire to read. I am kind of a wordy writer and I do apologize for that... I'm trying to work on it.</p>
<p>Let me know if you have any questions I can help answer! This story is inspired by another on the internet called "The Slave Breakers" but I'm just taking themes and not the whole story plot. I'm trying to keep it unique as much as possible!</p>
<p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking up in comfort was something that Stiles wasn’t used to. Even when he had been little, comfort wasn’t exactly how he would have described his sleeping arrangements. His father did the best he could, but the mattress was lumpy and the blankets old. Now, however, the bed and blanket reminded him of the luxury the masters had. It certainly wasn’t something he had ever been allowed to spend a night in.</p>
<p>It made Stiles wonder if maybe he had died. It would make sense.</p>
<p>The only thing that made him doubt that statement was the sudden rush of pain to remind him that he was in fact alive. He didn’t think you felt pain if you were dead; at least he hoped that you didn’t. Stiles slowly opened his eyes and found the world around him slowly coming into focus. Everything seemed to be foggy—the lines of the room fuzzy and out of place. Slowly, but surely, the room began to clear up. Unfamiliar with where he was, he moved his eyes about; looking for any sort of clue of where he might be.</p>
<p>Stiles froze when he caught sight of Peter, his body tensing and causing a new rush of pain through his limbs. His new master. That’s what the man had said when they were in the car. He remembered that even though he surely fucking wished he didn’t remember that.</p>
<p>Deucalion seemed like a walk in the park compared to the stories he had heard about the man before him.</p>
<p>The man was older, but not as old as he would have originally assumed. His hair was still fully brown, though the stubble across his chin was beginning to show slight signs of greying. If it had been any other circumstance, Stiles might have even ventured to call the man attractive. But instead looking at him brought a bitter taste into his mouth.</p>
<p>There was another man speaking to Peter, darker in complexion and completely bald. They were huddled together and speaking in hushed hurried tones. Stiles attempted to catch what they were saying but found he couldn’t even make out one of the many words that were filling the air between the two of them. He didn’t think the man was his other master; not with the way the two were speaking.</p>
<p>In the next moment, the bald man had stopped talking and was staring over Peter’s shoulder to look directly at him. Apparently, he had realized he was being watched. He said something and Peter looked over, eyes tracing over him.</p>
<p>Stiles couldn’t help but flinch at the man’s gaze. He was trapped and he quickly realized there was no real point in fighting. Not yet. Not if he had any hope of actually getting away from them and their brothel.</p>
<p>“We were wondering when you would wake. It’s been a couple of hours.” His voice sounded worried, something that made the slave’s brow pull together.</p>
<p>Stiles said nothing in response and Peter began to slowly approach him; his steps calculated and careful. “I have a doctor here with me, Stiles. His name is Dr. Deaton.” Stiles’ eyes quickly flicked over to the doctor in question. Doctors who made house calls for slaves were rarely skilled at what they did in his experience. He had more than a few scars to show for it.</p>
<p>He was more inclined to call them carpenters. They got slaves to working condition, but rarely was it beautiful or skilled. That was the job of an architect.</p>
<p>Apparently still waiting for Stiles to say something, Peter sighed and continued, “He’s here to check your injuries.” He paused, still leaving room for him to speak before he continued. “I want to make sure you will heal correctly and without infection.”</p>
<p>Stiles nearly scoffed at that and he was sure it showed in his eyes. What Peter wanted was to make sure his new investment survived the night. He wasn’t sure exactly how much the man had paid for him, but it was surely enough that it wouldn’t be pleasant to their wallet if he died. He had to be in fuckable condition as quickly as possible.</p>
<p>Without a word and decided that he was going to silently protest his new living arrangements, Stiles rolled over onto his back. He rested his check against the soft pillowcase and did his best to not make a sound of pain from his new position. He was sure one of his ribs was broken but he knew exactly what area was more important to the man. Stiles moved his pants down then and slowly began to tug them down.</p>
<p>“No… Stiles—” Peter was near him in the next moment and the slave jumped at the feeling of a warm and strong hand wrapping around his wrist. It took all his will power to not yank his arm away.</p>
<p>If he was going to escape—he needed to bide his time and make them relax around him. It was the mantra he kept repeating to himself.</p>
<p>His voice was muffled by the pillow, “You wanted to check.” He pointed out as if the choice he had made was the most obvious one in the world. No one else had ever really cared about any of his other injuries. There had never really been a reason to. Broken ribs would not prevent him from doing his duty, not really and all the bruising and cuts from his escape attempt would heal without any extra aid. They always had in the past.</p>
<p>There was a rough sigh behind him, and it was full of frustration, it only made Stiles tense that much more, “Not just… there—and the doctor can do that while I’m out in the hall.”</p>
<p>Stiles was confused, “Why?”</p>
<p>“Why?” Peter sounded confounded that he had been asked that question at all. “Because it’s obvious that you were beaten, and I would prefer that you didn’t die. Though I would have thought that obvious.”</p>
<p>Stiles wanted to say something sarcastic to that comment, but he went silent instead. Of course, he would prefer that he didn’t die, but he was already aware of that fact. His hand fell limp to the bed, but he remained in position for the doctor to check down there when he was ready.</p>
<p>Fuck—He was exhausted. He was exhausted and feeling angry. It was never a good combination. It made him do stupid things.</p>
<p>“Deaton… We might as well get this over with.”</p>
<p>That comment was enough to make him tense suddenly on the bed and as if sensing that, he saw Peter’s hand move toward him. The only response Stiles had to that was to bite his lip so hard that there was a rush of blood into his mouth.</p>
<p>Only, the man didn’t hit him like he originally thought he would, instead it hovered near him before the master took it back to his side. It was strange.</p>
<p>Deaton was approaching then, and frantic eyes darted to the doctor, “It shouldn’t take long.” The doctor’s eyes were on him but Stiles was sure that comment had been made for the benefit of his new master and not for him. The less time the doctor had to spend at the house, the less money they would be made to waste on their new accusation. It also meant that there would be less that Stiles would have to pay them back for in the future. Nothing came free for a slave.</p>
<p>“Stiles. I need for you to sit up on the bed for me.”</p>
<p>The slave obliged then, moving so that he could sit up, only to let out a sudden sound of pain as his ribs were jostled. So maybe he was worse off than he had originally thought. A hand suddenly grabbed his arm, and Stiles immediately tried to rip it away—not even bothering to consider that someone might be trying to steady him.</p>
<p>Peter’s voice rang out, deep and slightly frustrated, “Let me help.” Stiles focused on Peter as best he could as he attempted to ignore the swirling of black dots in his vision. He allowed Peter to pull him upright then, deciding it just wasn’t worth the fight and potential punishment.</p>
<p>Not when he was feeling like crawling into a hole and dying was a fantastic idea.</p>
<p>“I need his shirt off.”</p>
<p>Peter grunted his understanding and then his warm fingers were slowly helping ease Stiles out of the baggy shirt Deucalion had made him put on in order to hide some of the damage that had been made before he was sold.</p>
<p>“Fucking hell.”</p>
<p>That was Peter and he cursed to himself. That meant that the man hadn’t been aware of just how damaged he was and the potential of surviving this whole ordeal was becoming less and less promising.</p>
<p>There was a click of a tongue somewhere in the room, and Stiles turned his head in order to find exactly where it came from. It hadn’t come from either of the men who were currently in the room. “Peter, maybe you should go make a call and I’ll stay here with the boy.” It was the man from the car—the one who had been driving.</p>
<p>It was Chris Argent.</p>
<p>Peter was shaking his head, and Stiles’ eyes darted to look at him more fully then. There was clear displeasure on his face and Stiles was remiss to note that one of his fists had curled up and his knuckles had become white.</p>
<p>Chris stepped further into the room, moving so that he could place a hand to Peter’s shoulder. “Go call Deucalion and I’ll take full stock of the damage.” His voice was stern but not unkind.</p>
<p>Stiles found himself surprised when Peter left the room without protesting much more. It was then that Stiles noticed that Deaton was moving about the room, pulling supplies out of a bag he had brought. There was a flash of a knife in the bright light and Stiles felt himself panic. What the fuck was he going to do with that?</p>
<p>Without much more thought on the matter, Stiles was moving. He pushed himself off the bed and made a sudden run for it. Towards the door that Peter had just left out of. He wasn’t very strong, but he hopefully had the element of surprise on his side. He had always been quick, and he was extremely talented at working through pain.</p>
<p>He made it out the door without someone catching him and suddenly a surge of hope came across him. Maybe if he could just get out whatever building he was in he could make it onto the street. It was clear to him that they were either going to put him down or sell him right back to Deucalion. Maybe they were so done with him that they wouldn’t bother with the funds needed to amount a full chase.</p>
<p>“Stiles!” His name was yelled just as he found the stairs, his feet clattering noisily on the worn wood of the steps.</p>
<p>There was a sound of feet chasing after him down the hall and a sudden, “Peter!” A call to rouse the attention of the man who had left the room not that long ago.</p>
<p>Stiles made it down the stairs then and found the front door just around the corner, standing there and appearing to be unlocked. Without looking and without much thought, he was bounding for it. His fingers clasped around cool metal, twisting until he got the door open and then he was met with the sudden brush of fresh air that only signaled freedom to his frazzled mind.</p>
<p>Before he could get out, a thinner and less confident arm wrapped around his chest—tugging him back and away from his supposed only shot at freedom.</p>
<p>A strangled yell escaped his lips. A desperate and frantic last-ditch attempt to show them that he wasn’t going to be brought down so easily. He wasn’t going to let himself become a faceless victim to whatever they had planned for him.</p>
<p>The person behind him managed to pull them both to the ground and a sudden blast of pain from the fall only made Stiles let out a strangled sob of defeat. There was a flurry of voices and activity around him as others joined them. But Stiles could barely fight the person who had him in their arms, he could only bang his fist hopelessly on the ground. The reality of the situation had finally settled, and he didn’t want to accept it.</p>
<p>“Scott hold him still.”</p>
<p>It was the last thing he managed to make out before the sudden sharp pain in his bare shoulder had him succumbing to the blackness once more.</p>
<p>****</p>
<p>The next time Stiles woke there was a pounding headache that was forcing him to open his eyes. He was back in the same bed, but this time there was a soft pouring of sunlight streaming between the panels of curtains on the window.</p>
<p>He was getting tired of being knocked unconscious.</p>
<p>Stiles moved his wrists and ankles experimentally and found himself more than surprised where there didn’t seem to be any sort of binds tying him down to the bed. After his little attempt of escape he was sure that they would have made sure that there was no way he could try again.</p>
<p>Maybe they weren’t afraid he would try something again.</p>
<p>Pushing himself up, he stifled back a groan and moved a hand to his now bandaged chest. He could feel the sting and pull of stitches across his chest and realized that they must have had the doctor stitch him up after they had knocked him out again.</p>
<p>Curious eyes moved about the room before he landed on a stranger who was curled up in a chair in the corner of the room. He appeared to be around his age and wore garments that Stiles would have assumed a slave to wear. His hair was longer and was covering his forehead. Whoever this stranger was—he was dead asleep when he no doubt should have been watching Stiles.</p>
<p>That’s why he wasn’t bound up. Though Stiles shivered at the thought of what sort of punishment the other might receive if they knew he was sleeping on the job.</p>
<p>Unable to think much more on it, Stiles fell back to the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was drowsy but he wasn’t sure that he could fall asleep again if he had wanted too. There was a sharp pain every time he took a deep breath in that would jostle him awake every time his eyes threatened to close.</p>
<p>Stiles was unsure of exactly how long had passed before the door was creaking open. He startled, his body moving and his eyes seeking out the newcomer. It was Chris. He held a tray in his hands. The sight of a glass of water made him realize exactly how thirsty he was. But the slave didn’t say anything, but instead just watched as his new master inched further into the room.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Stiles. I brought you your medication and something to eat.” The man didn’t seem to be phased that Stiles was awake at all.</p>
<p>As if remembering there was another slave with him, his eyes darted over to where he was sleeping and then back to Chris. He didn’t want the slave being punished because of him.</p>
<p>Chris didn’t seem to be paying much mind to the other slave at all. Instead he just moved closer to the bed and set the tray down on the side table. Stiles looked it over curiously, wondering what he would be fed in a place like this.</p>
<p>It looked like what he was used to. Some bland and colorless mush that slaves were so often fed. He would eat it because his stomach was demanding he put something on it and was going to reach for it when he caught sight of something else. Next to the bowl on a small plate there were slices of something he had loved as a boy and coveted ever since.</p>
<p>Orange.</p>
<p>Eyes widened as he counted the slices. Six by his count, freshly peeled and waiting for him to take. He sprung into motion, fingers seeking out the sticky orange peels and immediately shoving one into his mouth.</p>
<p>A chuckle rung out, deep and rich, “Slow down there… You’re going to hurt yourself. No one is taking them. I can promise you that.”</p>
<p>Stiles looked at the man before forcing himself to slow down, instead opting to savor the flavor of the orange. It was tangy and sour—and he found that his palette seem unused to the flavor as it had been so many years.</p>
<p>He had finished two of the slices when he heard another voice ring out from the corner, softer and a little less steady, “Master Chris?”</p>
<p>Chris looked over then, “Scott.” His voice didn’t sound at all displeased. Stiles was relieved for that at least. “Breakfast is in the kitchen. I believe Allison was looking for you. I told her to wait but she didn’t seem keen on the idea.”</p>
<p>The look that crossed Scott’s face wasn’t something that Stiles would have expected at all. He looked pleased and affectionate. But as far as Scott knew, Chris and Peter were the masters of this house—so who was Allison and why was Scott allowed to look so openly affectionate towards her?</p>
<p>Scott rose quickly before his eyes were looking over at Stiles, “Good morning. I’ll be back later and we can talk if you want.” The slave darted to the door then, closing it behind them and leaving Chris and Stiles alone in silence.</p>
<p>Stiles was finished with the orange before someone spoke again, “Eat some of the nutritional meal… I know it’s not appetizing, but I need to get something into you before you can take your medication.” He responded before he was passing the bowl.</p>
<p>Why the fuck did he care if Stiles wanted to eat it or not? He would have just expected to be ordered to eat it and that was it. Stiles knew that they were just trying to make him comfortable and he didn’t want to be made to be comfortable. Not when he knew how it would inevitably end up.</p>
<p>Stiles took the bowl anyway and began to slowly spoon some of the familiar gunk into his mouth. He’d been eating it off and on for his entire life, he’d gotten used to it. The orange, while delicious, was not something he knew he could count as being a regular thing.</p>
<p>After a few more bites and swallows, he set the bowl down and looked at Chris in expectation. The man sighed before reaching over and grabbing the pills he had brought with him. He held each one up and explained what it was, “This is for the pain… and this one is to prevent infection.”</p>
<p>“A pain pill?” Stiles was shocked.</p>
<p>Chris nodded his head, a slight look of concern flashing in his eyes, “Yes. Deaton mentioned you might need it when you woke.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t those… forbidden?” Was this a trap? Some kind of test the man was doing so to test exactly what Stiles was aware of and what he wasn’t?</p>
<p>“Not technically, no. If acquired with the approval of a doctor they can be administered to a slave. Deaton is certified to prescribe the pills to slaves. We just had to sign a form saying we were liable for any sort of addiction or issues that might arise from you using them.”</p>
<p>Stiles was still confused, “You wanted to… risk that?”</p>
<p>“It’s not much of a risk if you use them in moderation.” Chris explained, his voice patient and not bothered by all the questions.</p>
<p>That still came as a shock, none of his owners had condoned the use of things like pain medication or even extreme surgery to help a slave. Something about knowing when to cut your losses and the risk of damaging a slave further. “Oh.” Was all Stiles could say.</p>
<p>The man picked up the glass of water and then held out both the pills and the glass. Stiles did as he was told and swallowed down the pills easily. He’d had a master who had preferred they get their nutrition from pills taken three times a day. The motion wasn’t unfamiliar to him.</p>
<p>Chris then began to pile the dishes back on the tray, preparing them to be taken away. “Now, Deaton said you would need to sleep after those pills. Something about the pain medication making you groggy.” Chris was standing up. “I’ll wake you for lunch and we’ll see how your pain is?” The comment was phrased as a question, but Stiles still didn’t dare answer it as if it were one.</p>
<p>They were in charge, not him.</p>
<p>“Okay.” Was all he could manage. Chris nodded his head cordially before he was heading to the door.</p>
<p>“Sleep some more please. I’m sure Scott will peak in again at some point so just mention to him if you need anything.”</p>
<p>Then the man was gone again, and Stiles was left watching wide eyed after him. Wherever the fuck he was, he was sure it was all just some kind of trick in order to get him more comfortable. He had no intention on getting more comfortable, but maybe sleeping soundly in a lavish bed for a day or two wouldn’t be such a bad perk to take advantage of.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Snow Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stiles wasn’t going to survive another house, another master—let alone the ones that you were sent to if no one else wanted you. He had already proved that he wasn’t a slave worth keeping.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay so I know that I had originally said that I was just going to make everyone human but guess who had a big ol' "I ain't actually gonna write this if I don't make wolves be a thing" -- very on brand for me. So I am apologizing for the sudden flip flop of ideas. But A/B/O is my absolute first love and I know I am more likely to update if I keep to that. So on that note I am going to explain some of the universe to help out.</p>
<p>Both humans/wolves have A/B/O dynamics though a majority of humans are betas and are assumed to be so unless there is evidence otherwise. The dynamics are, as a result, mostly ignored for humans as it doesn't affect 95% of them. Wolves are automatically enslaved when discovered, but humans are also slaves depending on whether they are born or sold into the life. This society is a mostly human run society, but wolves are known just rare. Any free wolves either aren't detected or were enslaved at some point and bought their freedom.</p>
<p>A wolf can be an Alpha gender wise but their pack rank varies. For example, Peter is an Alpha in gender but a Beta in pack rank. Humans can also be part of a wolf pack depending on whether they are mated to someone. Chris is mated to Peter and is a human Alpha. In this universe, Alpha/Alpha pairings are rare but not taboo. Wolf mates are bonded connections. A wolf may have more than one mate but may only bond with a second if their first bonds as well. (Poly fuck the world)</p>
<p>I'm leaving all other characters a mystery at this moment just for some fun reveals, though I imagine you already know where I am going with this. Please tell me this makes sense and I sure hope you all decide to stick around despite me suddenly changing my mind about the universe.</p>
<p>Triggers for this chapter: Heavy heavy death mention. Just a lot of death talk.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles would have expected for things to change sooner rather than later; instead he found that they continued steadfast in their façade of treating slaves with some sort of dignity. Even at his first home it was still clear that he was a slave and he was never allowed to linger too much into the areas that were kept solely for the master’s.</p>
<p>Here though, it seemed to be different. It was utterly confusing to him and he was slowly growing more and more convinced that things would change as soon as he was fully healed.</p>
<p>It’s why Stiles needed to get out of this place before that day came, and as weeks passed, it seemed to be getting closer and closer than before. But Stiles was getting ready for his escape, planning it meticulously and making sure that he covered all of his bases. They saw him as beaten down, and he gave a good show of it—but he wasn’t nearly as beaten down as they thought he was.</p>
<p>The main thing that Stiles needed was supplies. If he was going to be smart about his escape this time around then he needed to make sure he had everything he could possibly need. He wasn’t going to make it very far if he was donned in slave clothing and had no money.</p>
<p>It started off small, just a few things here and there—and Stiles was proud of himself when they didn’t seem to notice what he was doing. Laundry day meant he could sneak an outfit, one that he was sure would be too baggy for him when the time came for him to don it. But with the amount of food that they gave him, he was sure he would put enough weight on that he wouldn’t be pinned down as a slave at first sight.</p>
<p>It had only been five days since they had purchased him—but they already seemed to be keeping less of an eye on him than they had been. It was peculiar, especially if they were supposed to be the people that slaves were sent too if they seemed to be untrainable or a lost cause.</p>
<p>All Stiles knew was that this façade they put on would drop sooner rather than later. Especially now that his injuries seemed to be healing. They were known for the brothel they ran, and Stiles froze up at the idea of being sent there and fucked until he was useless.</p>
<p>Stiles had never been very good at the sexual aspect of his enslavement. He thought too much, moved too much, and had a hard time following orders the way that people liked him to. When his new owners realized just how horrible he was at that, they would surely put him down. Despite the idea that he had no prospects, he didn’t want to die. Stiles wasn’t done living.</p>
<p>Taking note of the items he had managed to swipe up to this point, Stiles knew that all he needed before he went for it was some money and a pair of shoes. The shoes would be easy, the money not so much. But Stiles had been watching from his window and noted that Scott seemed to be able to freely go and get food for the household without a supervisor.</p>
<p>That meant their money wasn’t as closely guarded as some of the other houses he had been in. He just had to wait for his opportunity.</p>
<p>The opportunity came sooner than Stiles had been expecting. It had been eight days since he had been acquired by his new owners, and for eight days he had watched them like hawks. He watched their habits, and took note of when they brought his meals or left for the day.</p>
<p>Chris, the quieter of his two owners, seemed to be the one who left the household most. Or at least, the tally marks he was making on baseboard of his bed told him that he was. He usually left in the late afternoon and then returned later that night. But every time he came home, he was clearly exhausted. Stiles only had to peek out of his room a couple of times to notice that. It showed on his face.</p>
<p>The man would drop his keys and wallet in a dish next to the front door.</p>
<p>That was exactly what he had been waiting for. It was the ninth night that he decided he was going to make his move. He only needed the money and a pair of shoes. He could swipe the wallet and grab a pair of shoes that were left next to the front door. The house wasn’t terribly difficult to sneak through unnoticed, and hopefully he would be well on his way out of town before they even realized that he was missing.</p>
<p>Right on schedule, he heard the man creeping up the stairs and Stiles darted into bed. He’d made a good show of making himself seem more hurt or pathetic than he was feeling, it meant they didn’t need to check on him as often as they probably should.</p>
<p>As the door was pushed open, Stiles made a good show of looking exhausted and dead asleep. The blanket pulled tight around him and his face turned away from the man. Chris shuffled in closer, to Stiles’ surprise, and then tugged one of the other blankets that had been bunched up at the end of his bed over him. The extra weight and warmth from the blanket caused Stiles’ muscles to relax even though he had no desire for them to do so.</p>
<p>It was all a trick.</p>
<p>The only thing he could do was to remind himself that it was all just a trick. Whatever they were doing to try and make him comfortable was just their way of making it, so it was that much harder for him to disobey them. It was a technique that Stiles was more than familiar with. He’d had owners who had adopted such behavior and then quickly made it clear what their position was.</p>
<p>It only solidified the idea to Stiles that he needed to get out of this place and fast. Once they realized he was healing well, it would all change. He had no doubt that the warm bed and regular meals would be taken away from him.</p>
<p>Chris lingered much longer than Stiles wanted him to, and the slave couldn’t help but tense up just from feeling the man staring at him.</p>
<p>An audible sigh filled the air, “I know you don’t trust us.”</p>
<p>Fuck—so the man knew that he was awake. Still, Stiles didn’t reply to him. Letting the man’s words hang in the air as if it would make him decide that Stiles was asleep after all. When he spoke again, there was no frustration in his voice, “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”</p>
<p>The words left Stiles without breath. Usually masters would insist that they at least pretend to have some sort of loyalty. Admitting that he didn’t trust them, didn’t like them, it would have gotten him beaten in the past.</p>
<p>With that, the man was exiting the room again, leaving Stiles both utterly shocked and full of hesitation for what he had planned that night. Whatever the fuck this place was, Stiles knew that he didn’t want to fall into their trap. If he did, he wasn’t sure that he would ever recover.</p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>Chris retreated to his and Peter’s bedroom then, doing the same he did every night and ensuring that the slave’s bedroom door remained unlocked. It was a risky move on his part, he was aware, but if the slave was going to run—it was better he do it when he was still in panic mood instead of at a later date when he might actually be able to execute a better escape attempt.</p>
<p>Usually when they got to that point, they ended up either living on the streets in some distant city or captured and killed. At least when they ran within the first couple of weeks, he could somewhat control how far they got, who ended up capturing them, and then show that they wouldn’t be punished for wanting some sort of freedom. In his experience, someone like the slave they had acquired would never begin to heal from his past unless he somehow managed to prove that they were different. Chris knew better than most that words only went so far. Sometimes you had to show someone before they began to believe you.</p>
<p>A soft rumble escaped the wolf in the room as Chris settled onto their bed, “He going to bolt?” The deep voice asked.</p>
<p>Chris pulled his shirt off before he looked over at Peter, “Probably. I think it’s more of a matter of when at this point. He is still hurt though, so I think he’ll push it out for a few more days at least.”</p>
<p>Peter hummed at that before he pulls himself to sit upright on the bed, “You’re the one who just had to have him.” The wolf moved then, wrapping an arm around his mate’s waist and pulling him back towards him. He didn’t like how Chris smelled when he came back from the brothel. Something about smelling sex, even if Chris hadn’t been indulging, made the more possessive part of him act up.</p>
<p>“We going to disregard the fact that you nearly ripped Deucalion’s head off?”</p>
<p>A scoff filled the air then, “I dislike people selling damaged goods.”</p>
<p>The smile that crossed Chris’ face then was full of affection, “Right. That’s all.” And then Peter was pulling him back to the bed and claiming his lips in a hot kiss.</p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>There was no backing out. Stiles had decided that before Chris had come into the room that night and was more than determined to stick to that plan even if the man’s words had made him hesitate for a fraction of a moment.</p>
<p>Stiles wasn’t going to survive another house, another master—let alone the ones that you were sent to if no one else wanted you. He had already proved that he wasn’t a slave worth keeping. Dying in a brothel where he could be used by whoever wanted him; it made his chest seize with the slight pang of panic. He had to run, there was no other option. Even if the actual chance of him getting away to a better life was slim—it would be better to be killed now.</p>
<p>Crawling out of bed, Stiles did his best to keep his movements collected and quiet. He’d never been very good at doing that, but he could at least try and keep himself controlled. The only way he was going to be successful was if he didn’t arise any attention. That meant from both the masters of the house and from the other slaves that milled about.</p>
<p>Brimming with anxious energy, Stiles slid from the far too warm and comfortable bed so that he could set about his plan. He tugged the stolen clothes from the hiding spot under his bed and quickly changed his outfit. The fine linen of the clothing was unfamiliar to Stiles—and for a moment he felt a shuddering breath escape from his lips as he realized exactly what he was about to do. He had to be careful, even dressed like one of the nobles, his scrawny frame would never actually pass as a master. He knew that it wouldn’t.</p>
<p>But he couldn’t stay, so he had to at least try.</p>
<p>The rest was a blur for him. Stepping from the room and creeping down the stairs, his fingers gripped at the worn leather of a wallet and then swiped a pair of shoes that were perhaps a size too big. They might be too big, but he could at least move around in them swiftly enough.</p>
<p>The next moment, he was out into the cold night air and struck with the thought that perhaps he should have grabbed a jacket on his way out as well. Unable to turn back or even falter slightly, he pushed on. Feet moving quietly until he was past the large gate that guarded the house behind him.</p>
<p>As soon as he was on the street, he was running. Perhaps it was desperation, or maybe it was the fear that was making his chest tight. Whatever it was—he knew that he needed to move fast if he had any hope of getting far enough away before they noticed that he was gone.</p>
<p>Stiles ran, ducking into alley’s and hoping that he wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention. Perhaps running wasn’t the best course of action, but all he wanted was to get away. He wanted to put his fucking miserable excuse of a life so far behind him and find something else. Anything else.</p>
<p>Blood rushed through him, causing a steady but nearly panicked thrum in his ears. Freedom was so close, and the further he got away, the more he could taste it.</p>
<p>As the night dragged on, so did the chill in the air—ebbing lower and slowly seeping into his bones. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was when the shiver began, but it caused his knees to shake and made him slow to a quick walk rather than the desperate pace he had been at.</p>
<p>His fingers had gone numb when he finally made it past the edge of the city and was released into a forest full of dense trees. Stiles was unfamiliar with the terrain, but he knew this was perhaps the best place he could be. It would be easier to disappear into the wilds and lose any trace of him for whatever search party they would eventually send. Search party—or perhaps a firing squad that would put him down before he even had a chance to plead his case.</p>
<p>It was too late—and he couldn’t stop.</p>
<p>Stiles recalled maps from years ago, ones that outline the forest next to the city he had spent the majority of his life in, and after miles, a port that ferried those with the right amount of money to a different land. One where he’d never been; one where he could perhaps get a job and start a new life. He could put it all behind him, and it was that thought alone that pushed him further on.</p>
<p>The slave felt like he had been wandering for hours when he felt something icy fall to his cheek and melt into a small droplet. He pushed forward with more determination. It was late in the season for it to be snowing, whatever this was, it would pass. He was sure of it.</p>
<p>Only—he was wrong, and the snow began to fall at a much more rapid rate than he would have expected for the time of year. The clothes he had grabbed were thin, and he was soaked through in no time. The chill that came over him then was one that he’d never felt before.</p>
<p>Stiles’ chest seized in sudden panic as he realized that maybe he wouldn’t make it. Whatever calm he’d forced himself to maintain while he’d methodically planned his escape fell away. Reality set in and a stifled wail escaped from his lips before he could stop it.</p>
<p>This is how he died.</p>
<p>Dropping to his knees on the cold and damp ground, Stiles let out a sudden howl of anger. The mixture of rage and panic made it so that he could only focus on the realization that he was just a goddamn stupid boy who had thought maybe life would cut him one little break.</p>
<p>Pulling himself to the trunk of a tree, Stiles sought out any sort of shelter he could from the weather. Either the chill would kill him, or they would find him, and he’d be dead. It didn’t matter either way anymore, he’d sealed his fate.</p>
<p>Pulling his knees to his chest, he pulled the locket he kept tucked to his chest and flipped open the small oval metal to reveal the worn picture of a couple smiling back at him.</p>
<p>It was rare for slaves to ever be granted such a personalized item, but it had been gifted to his mother by his father after the man had struck a deal with their master over it. It was the only thing he had left of his parents. His mother was dead and his father, while Stiles didn’t know for sure, was probably dead as well. He’d been older, and slaves his age usually became more of a burden.</p>
<p>If he was going to die, the idea that he might seem them again was enough for the weight on his chest to ease ever so slightly.</p>
<p>Fingers curled around the metal of the locket and Stiles let his head fall back to the bark of the tree he rested against. This wasn’t such a horrid way to go. He remembered another slave telling him that dying from hypothermia was like falling asleep. Eventually you’d just close your eyes and all the pain and suffering would ebb away. It was probably the closest thing to peace he’d had a chance at in years.</p>
<p>Maybe this was the best-case scenario. It wasn’t like he would have made it in another city. He had no education, no job experience, and he barely knew how to operate without being told what was expected of him.</p>
<p>Falling asleep in snow was a much better option than being fucked to death.</p>
<p>So, Stiles did the only thing he thought to do and allowed himself to lay down at the base of the tree and curl into a ball. His hand remained curled around the metal of the locket, holding to it like it was his only lifeline.</p>
<p>Just go to sleep. That was easy.</p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>Peter usually woke in the middle of the night; a habit he hadn’t been able to break even in the years he’d spent sleeping in safety and without concern of what might happen. It didn’t always happen, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to amble out of bed and take a walk throughout the house to check on the other inhabitants.</p>
<p>Chris had begun to adoringly call it his ‘papa bear mode.’ A sentence that always made his upper lip curl up in slight disgust.</p>
<p>The Alpha wolf checked on Allison first, though it was usually where he would find Scott curled up as well. It was no surprise to him to find that the two were wrapped around each other so tightly that they nearly took up only enough room for one person on the spacious bed. Though, it was with some surprise, that Peter noted Isaac had also found his way into the bedroom that night.</p>
<p>Peter had thought he’d sniffed Isaac on Allison’s skin the other day but hadn’t thought much of it. Now though, it was clear that the dynamics in their household had shifted as if overnight. Isaac hadn’t latched onto any of them up to that point, always dead quiet and watching with utterly doubtful eyes at everything they did.</p>
<p>He was healing, and it was enough for knot in his shoulders to ease. One he hadn’t even realized had become a problem.</p>
<p>Cora’s room was next, Cora was asleep atop her covers, mouth wide open and snores loud. Once he was sure everyone was settled for the night, Peter than retreated upstairs to check on the last inhabitant.</p>
<p>The room Stiles’ resided in was close enough to their own that they could get to him if he were distressed but far enough away that he wouldn’t feel suffocated by their presence once he realized that nothing was keeping him from venturing out.</p>
<p>Stopping to listen to his heartbeat, Peter was immediately concerned when he didn’t hear one. Worried for what possibly might have happened, he pushed open the door with less care than normal and found himself faced with a bed that was empty and had grown cold.</p>
<p>The wolf moved to the connected bathroom and found that it too was empty. It was then that he spied the pile of soiled slave clothing he’d been wearing next to his empty bed. He had run. Peter was sure of it. In a flash, he was darting down the hallway with a call, “Chris!”</p>
<p>There wasn’t much mind paid to whether he would wake the others in the house as he began rooting around for his cell phone. His fingers had clasped the device when he heard Chris coming down the hallway, gun in hand. “What… What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“He’s gone.”</p>
<p>Chris looked confused, “What?” he repeated himself.</p>
<p>“Stiles. His room is empty, and I know he’s not elsewhere in the house. He ran sooner than you predicted.”</p>
<p>“Well fuck.” Chris placed the gun down and was moving with purpose. “We need to find him. He wasn’t strong enough to run yet. I thought he’d wait until he had most of his strength back.”</p>
<p>Peter didn’t even have to say anything to show that he agreed. While he had assumed he’d run eventually, the boy had run much quicker than any of the others. Whatever had pushed him to this point showed him that Stiles obviously thought that death was a much more acceptable outcome over spending another moment in what, he had no doubt, he assumed was yet another abusive situation.</p>
<p>Usually when they were that far gone—they had gone blank. But Stiles; he wasn’t blank. Not like the ones they had seen in the past. His eyes were intelligent, taking stock of everything, not to mention the attitude that would occasionally slip from him. Whatever Stiles was, it wasn’t something that he or Chris had ever dealt with before.</p>
<p>Stiles had fire and yet his actions were startled and panicked—much like someone who had long since given up hope of anything other than a quick death.</p>
<p>“I’ll call Laura.” Peter grumbled out as he began to dial the number. “If he took to the forest, she’ll be closer than we are.”</p>
<p>Chris nodded in agreement before he was stomping down the stairs with purpose.</p>
<p>The phone picked up after the second ring, though he had no doubt that the Alpha of their little pack had already picked up on his distress before he’d even gone to make the call. “Laura. Our newest acquisition has made a run for it…”</p>
<p>“Already?” She seemed just as surprised as he was.</p>
<p>“Yes. Already.”</p>
<p>“I’m on it. I’ll meet you out here.” Then the phone clicked as she hung up and Peter was going after his mate.</p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>Chris refused to involve the authorities at all, hoping that they might be able to find Stiles before anyone else and not have to report it. The slave already had a delinquent run attempt in his file and one more would demand that he be punished severely for his behavior. It was better all around if they simply resolved the matter on their own.</p>
<p>A report would only be made if they weren’t able to find him by morning light.</p>
<p>The sight of the heavy snowfall had immediately concerned both he and Peter to the point that they had grown a little desperate. It was already slim that Stiles could have made it as far as the port in the condition he was in—but the snow all but assured that he would have had to stop at some point. Especially if he was wearing nothing more than some of the thin clothes, he assumed he’d stolen from laundry.</p>
<p>Peter, however, looked nearly distraught the longer they were unable to find him. Something that was a little unusual for the man he called his partner.</p>
<p>“I keep losing his scent.” Peter was growling, eyes glowing a deep blue as the wolf began to claw at the surface.</p>
<p>Chris ran a hand along his back, hoping that the motion might soothe him, even if just slightly. “We’ll find him, Peter. Laura and now Cora are both out there. If we need, Scott and Allison can join us—they both called me several times.”</p>
<p>While a slave running wasn’t unfamiliar to them, something about this one felt a little different. As if his desperation to get away was so raw that he would do anything, including putting his life at risk to do so. Most of the slaves would eventually come back with their heads down and their hands up. Because surrendering, to them, was better than perishing.</p>
<p>Chris wasn’t so sure that was the case with Stiles.</p>
<p>Peter turned his head then, as if he caught something on the wind that Chris would never be able to smell himself. The man took off then, moving towards a darker patch of trees. All he could do was follow his mate and try his best to be whatever helping hand he needed.</p>
<p>They walked for some time before Peter picked up speed and headed for what appeared to be a pile of snow. Only, there was cloth peeking out from beneath the snow and Chris bitterly realized that it wasn’t just piled up snow, but that the snow was covering something or rather, someone.</p>
<p>By the time he was close enough to see, Peter had already swept the snow from Stiles’ still form and began to pull him closer to his own body heat.</p>
<p>“Fuck… Chris—He’s freezing.”</p>
<p>Chris immediately removed his own coat and threw it over the body. Peter kept his grip tight on the slave, his eyes full of a worry that seemed so unfamiliar on his lover’s face. “Pick him up. We’ll take him to the hospital. I’ll call Deaton.”</p>
<p>The only thing he could was remain calm. Panicking or fretting over what may or may not happen would do none of them any good. Though he knew that was easier said than done when it came to Peter. He’d always had such a hard time keeping a close lid on his own emotions.</p>
<p>Chris nearly tripped in the snow as he followed after the two of them, phone already pressed to his ear as he prepared for what no doubt was going to be a very long day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Omega</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello... It is me, once again... Slinking back again. I am so sorry for just you know... disappearing? I had some serious medical stuff I was dealing with and then because of that I was not writing at all. But then I started to do this thing where I told myself to write 500 words a day and that seems to be really helping. Thank you for anyone still reading and thank you to all the new people joining. I hope you love my crazy erratic ride.</p>
<p>Trigger warnings: Death (a lot of death talk), Panic attacks, Master/Slave (but that's this whole fic...)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Song inspiration: QUIXOTE [I am alone and they are everyone] Song By: Crywolf</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Peter was seeing red.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was something that generally he did his best to keep under wraps, especially when he was out in public. He was already walking on thin ice with most people outside of his household and he had no reason to make the situation any worse by allowing his anger to get the better of him. Only-- Peter was far from perfect and in moments of high stress the anger he felt tended to bubble up in the worst moments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they arrived at the hospital, Chris had attempted to take lead-- only for Peter’s eyes to glow a sudden red and a growl to slip past his lips before he could stop it. It was standard protocol for Chris to take the lead in situations where the fact that he was a wolf could hinder the services they received; but that evening he wasn’t having it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The protectiveness he felt for the human was incredibly overwhelming and took precedent over nearly anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they told him he would have to wait, Peter nearly ripped the damn nurses head off. It was only with the touch of his mate and the command of Laura that the werewolf allowed it. With the human gone from his sight, coherent thought slowly began to ebb back and he was faced with an overwhelming rush of confusion at himself and how he had reacted. The way Chris kept looking at him with a questioning glance only made him that much more uncomfortable with the way he had acted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to get a coffee…” The wolf grumbled to his mate before he was disappearing down the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter always cared to some extent about the slaves that came through his household but it was rare for the man to have such an emotional reaction to them. Usually, that was left up to Chris and his daughter, leaving Peter to be the more stern closed-off member of their household. Anger and irritation were far more common emotions that the others witnessed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vulnerability was reserved strictly for his mate and his mate only.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coffee would clear his head and the distance from the situation would help him to detach himself a little more. If there was one thing that Peter was good at, it was separating himself from a situation that was making him uncomfortable. Anything that made him experience something that wasn’t his norm-- that was definitely something that was going to make him uncomfortable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wolf was not unfamiliar with the hospital and it’s layout, they’d been here before and they would no doubt be back multiple times in the future. Finding the cafeteria and helping himself to the pot of coffee they always had in the back corner was a familiar action for him. It meant little to no interaction with others in the hospital while Chris handled most of the paperwork and questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter was already on his third cup of coffee by the time the world around him came into more focus and he felt the tension of his shoulders begin to feel less like he was holding the weight of the world and more like something that he could handle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A quick glance at the clock told him he had disappeared into the cafeteria for over an hour-- an amount of time that he was sure would garner questions from Chris later. Though if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t exactly sure what was causing such a visceral reaction. They’d trained plenty of slaves, some with behaviors that you might even consider to be worse off than Stiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about the way they’d found him, so desperate to get away; freezing and accepting death over the idea of everything else. Something about it just didn’t sit right in his gut. God. Maybe he needed to get another cup of coffee before he returned back to Chris and the others.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Chris fought at the urge to go after Peter. There were clipboards full of paperwork for him to tend to; questions from doctors that needed to be answered. This was a situation that needed to be handled delicately and quietly. If they had any hope of keeping the delinquent mark off of Stiles record then Chris needed to ensure that he kept an eye on everything that was written down about the situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t exactly the easiest situation to explain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The alpha passed the final clipboard over to a nurse when Laura joined at his side, she angled her body towards him and spoke in a hushed voice, “Am I going to need to work my connections at records for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a shake of his head, Chris sighed, “I don’t think so… I’d prefer to not involve any of that right now this early in the game.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Hale Alpha cringed at those words but seemed to understand exactly where he was coming from. They were only a few weeks into this game with Stiles, they could need a million other favors and calling one in that early, it was always a dangerous game. “Peter seems to be taking it… difficult.” She commented in a way that to anyone else, might seem casual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have nothing to say about that,” Chris shook his head, “You know how much he hates Deucalion. I imagine it is stemming from that.” Though, to be fair, Chris wasn’t even sure he believed himself when he said that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laura clicked her tongue in her mouth at that as if to say ‘sure whatever you say,’ before she was moving away from the man and returning to her seat in the small waiting room. Chris reached up then and tried to rub some of the exhaustion from his eyes. He couldn’t worry about what was going on with the slave in the other room and also what was going on with his mate; he simply didn’t have enough emotional energy for that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could spare another thought to that, he was relieved to catch sight of the man in question rounding the corner. Peter seemed to have collected himself in the time he was gone-- and had returned with two cups of coffee. Approaching Chris, he held out the cup almost as if he was offering a white flag between the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris nodded, accepting the offer of peace before the man was turning and passing a cup along to his sister. The taste of bitter stale coffee on his lips brought a slight cringe to his face, but it was also a welcome sensation. If they were going to be here for a bit more time, then he was going to need something to keep him awake. Caffeine alone wasn’t going to do it, the bitterness of the coffee would help immensely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he had taken a few sips of the coffee, Peter was approaching, as if he had decided that Chris would be easier to deal with once he had a little bit of the liquid. The wolf spoke lowly, “Deaton arrived yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris nodded his head, “About twenty minutes ago, he’s in there.” He jerked his head towards the room in question and the man didn’t miss the way that Peter’s eyes abruptly turned to the room before looking to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And he hasn’t said anything?” It came out in an irritated grumble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I imagine that he has to speak to the other doctors as well, Peter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a brief pause while the wolf thought, “Something feels… wrong. I’m-- <em>unsettled</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris didn’t reply immediately, he was surprised that the wolf was admitting that at all, especially in such a public venue. “Here?” He questioned softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter rolled his shoulders as if that might fix the situation, “I don’t know... Since the forest… Since we found him. Since… we got him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The alpha brought a hand up and rubbed at his chin, “Why didn’t you say anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought it was the abuse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe it still is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think so. Not anymore, Chris.” Peter was obviously frustrated with the fact that he hadn’t been able to figure out what was bothering him. Chris only wondered why the man had felt the need to keep it to himself for so long. Usually he was upfront about those things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris approached Peter and placed a hand on his upper arm so that he could spend a moment just feeling him. The warmth from the man helped to steady his thoughts even if it was just for a moment. “There isn’t anything we can do about it right now. We’ll talk about it later. After we… settle everything here. Alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Alpha wolf didn’t look overly comforted by that, but still he nodded, “Alright.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Dying wasn’t like anything Stiles had thought it would be. He’d always imagined it would be quick and simple. That he’d go and then wake up to find his parents there to embrace him; to welcome him into a place of peace after so many years of pain and struggle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t that Stiles had stopped fighting-- he wasn’t sure he would even know how to stop fighting. It was just that the idea of being able to not constantly battle for the right to simply exist was something that felt comforting to him. He’d always imagined he’d find that in death, even if there was that small voice in the back of his head that poured doubt into him about whether that even existed at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s why the darkness he was currently met with was so frightening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The darkness was cold. The darkness left him with nothing but the pain in his weary muscles and the stirring thoughts in his heads. Thoughts he tried to keep out as much as possible when he was alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was this what death was? Being faced with yourself? If so-- Stiles had no<strong> fucking</strong> interest in it, thank you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A jolt of pain caused the muscles in his body to tighten and for a moment the slave swore he could hear the whisper of voices. The voices were deeper than his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hello? Can you hear me? I’m in here!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing. The voices were gone again and he was left alone in the blackness of his mind. There was a cool brush of air and it made him shiver. Reminded him of the snow he had buried himself in. He reached up to grapple at his neck in search of the metal locket he hoped was still there. Was he even moving? He didn’t know anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>...Stiles.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That voice was deeper and familiar, though Stiles couldn’t quite place who it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Stiles. Can you hear me?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can fucking hear you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles wouldn’t actually have the balls to say that allowed in real life, but there was something satisfying about responding that way here. They couldn’t hear him but he could hear them. Something was wrong. Why was he stuck here in this darkness? Something told him that this wasn’t death-- death didn’t work like this, did it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>--There’s still too much sedative.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sedative? What were they talking about? Was that why were they trapped? Suddenly he felt like panicking again. What did that mean for him if they had him on some sort of cocktail like that. Obviously he hadn’t died in the snow and obviously they hadn’t decided to kill him just yet. His heart seized up in his chest as he realized in a quick moment that his escape attempt had only accomplished one thing; made everything that much worse for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, no, no fucking no.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly there was flashing of lights in his eyes and things began to swirl into vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before him he saw them through blurry eyes. His masters, standing in all their glory with expressions he couldn’t even hope to process before the panic attack set into his bones and overwhelmed his senses. The pain alone was enough to send him into a sensory overload.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The slave hadn’t had an attack this bad in what felt like months. The panic that gripped him this time was all consuming and even with lingering effects of the sedative he was tearing at I.V’s and other cords in a desperate attempt to get away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No… No…” Stiles was sobbing, though he wasn’t sure he was entirely aware of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of them stepped forward rapidly and Stiles caught the sight of glowing blue eyes, something that only pushed the panic even closer to the surface. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to die!” Stiles suddenly fell to the floor and let out a loud sound of pain as he hit the cold floor. He had nowhere to go, he wouldn’t even try to run. It would be pointless with so many people in the room even if he could somehow force his shaky legs to somehow get him into a standing position.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could even process what was happening, there were arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him into a sitting position. He let out a strangled scream only for the person to whisper a sudden rapid hushs into his ear and pull him tightly back against a strong chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Breathe. Slowly. You’re not going to die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles’ sob at that statement was his only protest he could give. Even he couldn’t believe the words, even if there was a part of him that desperately wanted to hold onto it. The arms only wrapped tighter around him, providing a constant source of warmth and pressure. Such contact being provided almost as a comfort was so unfamiliar to the slave that he was unsure of how to react to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How long they stayed like that, Stiles wasn’t sure; but eventually his sobbing slowed and he found himself slumping over in defeat and exhaustion. He could have pulled away from whoever had him, but found himself unwilling to do so when the other had done nothing to try and cause him harm yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeking out a moment of comfort, perhaps even his last-- it was all Stiles had left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chris…” Another man spoke from somewhere in the room and he felt one of the arms around him flex slightly, almost as if in irritation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that’s enough for the evening, wouldn’t you say Deaton?” He felt the voice rumble through him and found himself grateful for the words. He didn’t want to talk or do anything for that matter. He knew he’d have to answer for his actions and if that meant being sent to the pits to fight-- so be it, but right now he didn’t want to handle it. He wasn’t even sure that he could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A third voice joined the conversation, “I think there were some other tests and paperwork you can tend to instead, yes?” It was deeper and full of frustration. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was part of that frustration, but he imagined he was and it made his muscles tighten slightly in response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if sensing that, Chris’ hand moved, fingers wrapping around Stiles’ forearm almost in a comforting and guarding gesture. Deaton cleared his throat and nodded his head, “Yes. There was.” Even without looking up, Stiles knew that he had left the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one said anything else for several minutes after that. It was Chris who finally broke the silence, “Stiles… Do you think we can get up?” He asked the question slowly, and Stiles realized that he must seem like an injured animal to them both. In many ways he did feel like one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-Yeah… S’fine…” He muttered, though he wasn’t sure where to even start with that movement. Luckily Chris made the first move and helped them both get into a standing position. He helped him return to the hospital bed and set him back into the disheveled bedding. Once he was in a seated position, Chris dropped his arm and moved to step back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just seeing the man begin to retreat set another level of panic in him that he wasn’t sure that he even understood. Suddenly he reached out and clasped his hand tightly around the master’s arm with the hope of getting him to stay. Chris felt safe. Only-- what he just did was surely going to get him punished in no time and he realized that a moment too late. He had attempted to run and then was already pushing boundaries. What the fuck was wrong with him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit… Fuck…” He cussed as he pulled his hand back, “Sorry…” His hand was shaking so he clutched it into a fist suddenly in an attempt to get it to stop. He needed to get his head screwed on straight and soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris shook his head, “No… It’s fine. I am your master-- you ask for what you need from me.” He explained and Stiles just furrowed his brow in confusion. He locked that sentence away for later, not wanting to think about it too much at the current moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then without giving him much warning, Chris was moving and was ushering Stiles back to the bed and urging him to lay down so that he could situate the blankets around him once more. Unable to think about it much more, he allowed it to happen, wide eyes watching the man as he worked. Peter remained at the far end of the room, arms crossed over his chest and simply watching the whole interaction unfold. As far as Stiles was concerned-- he was hallucinating the whole thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you mind?” Chris asked as he sat down on the bed. Stiles was a little tongue tied and simply shook his head at the man. Would it come with a price later? Probably. But it was probably a price he was bound to pay later anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus fuck was this confusing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Chris was laying down beside him, his long legs stretching out down the length of the bed and one arm moving to fall across just behind where Stiles’ head had landed. An open invitation to lay where he wanted with no pressure to do so if he had no desire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually Stiles settled for remaining close to Chris’ side with his arms wrapped tightly around his own chest. If his head ended up on the man’s chest in his sleep-- he couldn’t exactly help that.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Peter was now situated in a chair beside the hospital bed, one leg expertly crossed over the other while he watched Chris and the slave. Stiles’ head was tucked up on his mate’s chest and Chris had since tucked his hand into the short hair to gently draw circles on his scalp in soothing patterns in an attempt to keep the restless young man settled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter ran a hand over his jaw, “He’s… unpredictable.” His voice was low so as to not startle the slave, but he had a close eye on his heart rate and breathing pattern to ensure he was still sleeping while they spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other man hummed and nodded, “I think he’s more scared than we originally thought… He likes to pretend it’s all anger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Smart shit though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The chuckle that rumbled out of Chris was enough to bring a smirk to Peter’s lips, “I’m not even sure we’ve touched fully on that yet, dear.” Chris said with a soft sigh. The escape attempt had been a little more quick witted than they both had expected. That and Stiles seemed to be holding onto his emotions more closely to his chest than most slaves did. It was a trait to be admired and one that usually came with intelligence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris turned his eyes to his mate then, opening his mouth to speak before shutting it as he saw Deaton entering the room. Peter’s shoulders immediately tensed, irritated at the appearance of the man but also knowing that they needed to put up with him should he have something he needed to tell them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Raising an eyebrow expectantly, Peter turned to look at the man over his shoulder, “Was there something you needed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deaton cleared his throat, “I think I have a piece of the puzzle to your young man there you might want to be privy to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris didn’t move from his position, though his fingers did still in Stiles’ hair, a sign that he was paying full attention to whatever the Druid had to say to them about the slave they had come to purchase. Peter nodded his head, a sign for the man to continue saying whatever he had to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe the reason he might be behaving so erratically is because he’s a repressed Omega.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was deafening silence in the room before two voices spoke at the same time, <em>“Excuse me?”</em></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay so I don't like Deaton... Sue me. I think Peter is in my head far too often because that part of him has rubbed off on me.</p>
<p>I have a really really bad habit of doing slow burn far too slow, so I threw this little Chris/Stiles moment in, hopefully it didn't feel too fast? Let me know if you felt it was too fast or just right-- I need to know.</p>
<p>Also... I've been out of writing for so long now cause of everything that's been going on that I feel like my writing is disjointed and ERRATIC so I apologize in advance if it feels like that. I am going to sit down and make sure that I am keeping everything straight.</p>
<p>As always, please just let me know what you think. I love you all. Thank you for going on this ride with me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Protective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What's this? Another chapter? Oh my gawd. I feel like I am on a roll here. Okay but really I am getting so into this story right now. So so into it honestly and I cannot wait to delve into the other characters and start to flesh out the world and all of that good stuff. Plus we're only just getting into the dynamic with everything. Sorry if everything is a bit slow here, we're just getting through some background Stiles stuff right now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Song inspiration: Human Song By: Aquilo</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell do you mean</span>
  <em>
    <span> repressed</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Peter had certainly taken whatever little bit of calm he had remaining in him and left it in the room with Stiles. The only thing that was keeping him from fully shouting at Deaton in the hospital hallway was the firm hand of his mate on his upper arm. He could sense Laura lingering not far away, though it was clear she didn’t want to intrude until she had been invited into the conversation. It was a very wise choice on her part.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deaton let out sigh, “I mean exactly what I said, Peter. He’s a human Omega. Somehow that part of him has been repressed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wolf scoffed, “That would mean he’s been stifled for what… how many years now…” he tried to do the math in his head, but he honestly couldn’t even remember what age they had listed for Stiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris interjected, helping him with the thought, “Seven or eight years-- that seems like an impossibly long time.” He seemed to be agreeing with where Peter was going with this. “I’ve only seen one other case and they only managed to keep the girl hidden for three years before she entered a heat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Peter was bristling now. How could something like this slip through the cracks for that long? Was Stiles even aware of his secondary gender? Who even did this to him in the first place? There were so many questions and he wasn’t even sure of where he was supposed to start. Clearly they weren’t going to get answers to these questions all in one night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you at least have a fucking on how something like this could have fucking happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter…” Chris tried to calm him down and Peter simply sent him a look to tell him that he wasn’t anywhere near calm anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deaton rifled through a folder he was holding to pull out a report, “His toxicology report isn’t showing anything out of the ordinary… At least not anything you would test for on a normal report… But-- I can run my own test out of the hospital… Take some of his blood and test for a few agents that have been known to be used for this exact purpose.” He looked to the two of them, “Slaves are crafty… You are well aware of this. There are a few off market items I think might have been able to have kept him under the radar for this long, especially if they were used even before he presented.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wolf growled lowly and he saw Chris furrow his brow, “Before he presented? How would someone even know to use them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter interrupted before Deaton could, “Someone would have been aware of the signs of a presenting Omega…” Peter had heard about it happening in packs before-- at least in packs who were at risk of their Omega’s being taken for the sole purpose of slavery. “Go… Go run your tests.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wolf stepped away then, his hand moving up to try and work some of the tension out of his neck and his shoulders. He had only taken a couple of steps before he felt Chris’ hands moving to replace his own. He stopped walking and allowed the other Alpha to slowly work some of the knots from his muscles. Just feeling the man’s hand working some of that tension out was enough to help him relax. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle any of this if Chris wasn’t here standing at his side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a grumble, he spoke, “I suppose that… explains some of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris shifted closer and spoke in a lower voice, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why… I’m feeling off-- why everything with Stiles… feels off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Alpha behind him hummed softly as if he was considering that thought. Peter wondered if he was feeling it too. He knew that he usually felt base urges a little more strongly because of the wolf, but the man was an Alpha too-- there was no doubt a part of him that reacted to the Omega in Stiles as well; even if he hadn’t even been aware that was what was going in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris was quiet for another long minute, his fingers moving adeptly across the back of Peter’s shirt. Peter said nothing, knowing that the silence was simply his mate thinking through his reply. Sometimes he needed a moment to collect, sometimes they both needed a moment to just breathe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want anyone near him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words behind him were not exactly what he expected but they weren’t exactly a surprise either. Peter grunted, a show that he had heard but that he wasn’t sure of how he was supposed to respond to that quite yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The human continued, “After he woke-- his panic was clear and all consuming.” Peter remembered it. The reaction from Stiles had been so startling that his Beta form had nearly taken ahold of him simply from the look on the boy’s face. “Deaton felt like a threat. The idea of another nurse or doctor getting near Stiles after that happened, especially when he already had me-- it made me… uneasy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Uneasy was one way to put it, Peter probably would have just gone straight to angry. Chris was much more subtle with his emotions though; he always had been. “What about me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter could somehow feel the man shaking his head without even seeing it, “No… I didn’t assess you as a threat to Stiles. You’re mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words spilled so easily out of Chris that Peter found himself turning towards the man so that he could look into the man’s blue eyes. “That’s the Alpha.” He responded easily. He knew that Chris had never truly dealt with that side of himself, it came from growing up in a human family of bigots. But the man was an Alpha and those urges, even if they were at a more primal base level, they existed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the Alpha.” Chris agreed with a nod before stealing a quick kiss from his mate’s lips. Peter deepened the kiss before the man could pull back, wanting to make sure that the other Alpha knew exactly who he belonged with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a long moment, Peter pulled back, “Having an Omega in the house is going to be messy… For both of us.” Up until this point they had redirected Omega’s to brothels who were better equipped to handle them, somehow Peter knew that there was no way they’d be able to redirect Stiles at this point. Not with how deep they already were in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose it’s a good thing there are two of us and the other members of the house are Beta’s.” Chris pointed out with a quirk of an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking thank god for that.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Stiles wasn’t unused to waking up alone, in fact-- he usually embraced the moments where he woke by himself. It was usually a reprieve from all of the things he was forced to endure in his daily life. Alone meant that he didn’t have to keep such a close guard on his thoughts and feelings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alone was fine and dandy-- but for some reason waking up alone in a hospital bed after the night he had; well somehow that just </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t feel right</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The slave had been so fucking caught up in everything he had been feeling last night that he had barely even spared a second thought to the fact that everything in his body felt like it had been run through some sort of pin roller. He’d been through plenty of beatings in his short years, but running into a frozen tundra while he was still healing from one of the worst was probably not the wisest decision he had ever made.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one exactly had ever given him an award for making the best decisions under pressure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingers clawed at where Chris had been the night before, the area since grown cold in his absence. It didn’t matter, but his heart picked up slightly in panic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had they decided to just leave him here? Would someone else come to get him in the next moments? Take him to the fighting pits like he had predicted?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles had always assumed that the worst place you could end up was with the Brothel owners, but he was wrong; it wasn’t. The worst place was in the pits-- but he never thought anyone would keep him alive long enough for him to end up dropped into the pits to be slaughtered for sport. He always assumed that they would just do away with him first. That’s what always made the most sense to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God-- was it freezing in here?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The whimper that escaped from his lips in the next moment almost sounded unfamiliar to him and he wasn’t even sure it was himself he was hearing. He reached down hoping that there was maybe another blanket at the end of the bed, but realized that there was only the thin sheets there. Usually there were extra blankets in a hospital, wasn’t there? At least he had always assumed there should be-- not that he had all that much experience with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The slave settled instead for wrapping his arms around his torso and trying to hold some of the chill out. The shivering set in and he realized that he probably looked a mess laying there in that bed, thin and trying to hold some sort of warmth into his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If they wanted him for the fighting pits like this-- he might laugh. At least he could get one last bit of humor out of this whole exchange.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles wasn’t sure how long he had been laying there curled into himself when he heard the sound of feet entering his room. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend that he was sleeping but knew it would be impossible with the amount of shivering and sounds that came from it as a result. The feet got closer and he realized quickly who they belonged to. Peter-- the other master. The one who had stayed quiet the night before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” His voice was brisk. It demanded an answer and Stiles nearly stiffened at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swallowed before he managed an answer, “C-Cold…” He got the word out, though he didn’t ask for a fix. That felt too much like crossing a line, even though Chris had mentioned the night before that he should reach out should he need something. He still wasn’t sure where he stood with Peter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter was different. Stiles couldn’t read him yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man nodded his head, “Easy fix.” He grunted before he reached down and gripped Stiles’ upper arm. He wasn’t rough by any means of the word, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t startled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-- What…” Stiles gasped slightly, his heartbeat picking up in near panic. Any sort of protest he might be giving off didn’t seem to even falter the man in his tracks. Instead, he simply right Stiles into a seated position and slid in behind him with a grace that was surprising even to the slave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter grunted softly, “Just relax, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles’ nose crunched slightly at the use of the word kid and he found himself unable to help the statement that slipped free from him in the next moment, “I’m not a kid.” He expected some sort of retaliation for saying that however and flinched away from the man with a groan of pain only to feel Peter’s chest move in something he could have sworn was a chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The master’s larger hands helped ease him back to his broad chest and a sudden sigh escaped Stiles as he realized, with some irritation and hesitation, just how warm the other man was. It wasn’t normal for a human-- Stiles could tell you that. But Stiles didn’t feel like pointing out that fact just yet, especially if the other didn’t want the idea that Stiles was well aware of the heat differences between wolves and humans put out in the open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though it did make his brain start to work quicker-- why was Peter a master? Most wolves never quite made it to that title. They were lucky enough to have their freedom bought for them at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles felt the sheets tucked tighter up around him by the man and saw that he had settled back against the headboard-- as if he had no intentions of going anywhere anytime soon. Stiles had a million questions, but instead of asking, simply fiddled with the frayed edge of one of the sheets instead. The shaking slowly subsided and he supposed this wasn’t the worst solution to his problem.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minutes had passed before Peter reached out to wrap his larger hand around one of his own, ceasing his fiddling. His deep voice rumbled through his chest, “If you have a question. You may ask.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles furrowed his brow and swallowed roughly, “I…” He hesitated. He wasn’t exactly going to dive into the hard hitting questions right then. That’d be rude. “Are… Are you going to send me to the pits?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no hesitation in his answer and Stiles was amazed that the man could be so confident in his answer. He cleared his throat, “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter tightened his hold on his hand for a moment, “I think the reasons are simple. The pits are barbaric. I don’t send slaves there nor does Chris. We made a vow when we bought you and we plan to keep it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles reached up with his freehand to rub at his forehead to try and clear his thoughts, hoping that would help with some of the headache. “But you run a brothel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s breath was hot across his neck, “We do.” he simply agreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles didn’t want to go to a brothel. He knew he couldn’t voice that protest now, but that wasn’t what he wanted and he supposed it probably showed in the way his entire body tensed. In the way that he subtly pulled away from the wolf. He was conflicted in a way that he didn’t understand. How could these people, these two masters, feel like safety and then also feel like the danger he had been warned about his entire life? He didn’t understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sigh that followed from Peter was deep and sounded exhausted, “This is a conversation we shouldn’t be having now.” The man explained, though from his tone of voice it didn’t sound like it was over. “What you need to know now is that we run a business that is in good standing with the community-- whose workers enjoy being there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles nodded his head, but said nothing in reply. As if sensing that wasn’t enough to get him to fully relax, Peter added as an afterthought, “Just remember Stiles, not all brothel workers are there for sex.” His hand loosened on his and traveled slightly up his arm almost in a calming motion before the man fully settled back against the headboard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Confounded by the new information, Stiles could only lean himself fully back on the man and ponder through it for a moment. Finding the good in this situation, it seemed too good to be true; but maybe if he didn’t hope, just maybe it would come to him.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Chris sat next to Laura and raised an eyebrow to his pack Alpha in curiosity. While he was used to her lurking around when things like this occurred, he had assumed that she would take her leave once things had settled. Yes, things seemed to be a little out of control at the current moment, but that seemed to land more on him and Peter. It didn’t exactly concern the pack. Not as long as they could keep Stiles under control anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laura shrugged her shoulders, “Peter is riled up-- something is telling me I shouldn’t leave until he is settled.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man hummed and reached up to scratch at his beard, “Something tells me that he won’t settle for quite a bit, Laura. Certainly not while Stiles is in here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if reading his mind, the woman cringed, “I did happen to overhear what Deaton said, you know… You sure about keeping him in the house? I can make some calls.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris ignored the part of him that irritated at the idea of anyone else taking Stiles. They had already made up their minds and Chris knew that there was no turning back at this point. Chris was sure that sending the Omega anywhere else was going to be a grand mess not only for him but for everyone else involved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laura clicked her tongue in her mouth, “Alright. Then I need to make some calls to the pack. Make sure they are informed and don’t… come around unannounced.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Chris knew that he or Peter could do it themselves, he knew that it would probably be easier if she just got it over with, “Thank you, Alpha.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Three days later</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Orris Root Powder is our culprit.” Deaton announced as they all stood outside Stiles’ room. He was holding a vile of powder, no doubt to show them exactly what it looked like so they could be on alert. Keeping Stiles’ suppressed for much longer was going to cause a whole mess of issues that they needed to avoid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris cleared his throat, “Any idea where he could have been getting it?” He asked as he reached out to take the vial. It was not something he was familiar with himself, so he was surprised to see it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s more common in Northern cities… Used in human makeup if I remember correctly. Would be incredibly difficult to acquire here, especially by a slave.” Deaton explained. Chris passed the vial off to Peter, who quickly took a deep sniff of the item-- as if he could somehow figure out exactly where it had come from simply from that action alone. Stiles had obviously been getting it from somewhere. They had to figure out from where and soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter hummed, “I suppose that means he might be from a northern city? Trafficked in? Slavery there is more labor based isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris looked to his mate and nodded, “When I trade there, the slaves are always labor slaves. I’ve maybe met one pleasure slave. It makes sense to keep him hidden as an Omega to avoid that fate…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously though, that failed.” Deaton pointed out and both men grunted their displeasure and agreement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris sighed, “I suppose all we can do now is ask.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Stiles was tired of the hospital. What waited for him outside of the hospital was unknown, but what he did know was that he didn’t want to be here anymore. He felt open and exposed, especially when he was forced to deal with the nurses and doctors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As much as he loathed to admit it-- the only time he felt any sort of semblance of safety was when Chris or Peter were around. Something he was sure would fade at some point, but it was also the only thing he had going for him right now. Maybe he should question it some more, he didn’t know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they entered the room, he pushed himself up slightly on the bed, wide eyes looking to them with a question. He wanted to ask when he could leave-- and the question had nearly left his tongue when Deaton followed on their heels. Immediately his mouth snapped shut and he went from the slightly curious person he’d been to more cautious. If either of his master’s noticed, neither said anything about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms loosely around them. He waited for someone to speak, but they all seemed to be tongue tied. “What’s… What’s going on?” He asked, suddenly worried that someone was going back on their word and he was either getting sold off or really going to the fighting pits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris spoke first, “We have some things we need to talk about Stiles… That’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The slave nodded his head, though he wasn’t comforted at all. He felt like he was in trouble, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was that he had done to get himself into trouble. At least not in the last couple of days. Unless everything they had been saying was actually all of a trick and he had failed the test.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deaton finally spoke, “We need to know where you are getting the Orris root powder… and if you are aware of how dangerous it is to keep up what you are doing to your body for such a long period of time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles froze, confusion suddenly crossing his face, “The… what?” What the hell was he even talking about? He’d never heard of such a thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This…” He held up a vial, “The powder you use to suppress your Omega traits… you might also buy it in tablet forms. You might know it under a different name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, he was feeling sick to his stomach. Stiles wasn’t an Omega, he was a Beta. He’d always been a Beta. “I’m n-not…” Stiles shook his head quickly. Whatever they thought they had discovered, he knew that they were dead wrong. He wasn’t what they thought he was. He couldn’t be what they thought he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris stepped in, “Stiles. Are you not aware that you are an Omega?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not knowing how else to react, he began to shake his head rapidly, “No… No.. I’m a Beta…” He brought a hand up to the bottom of his throat, hoping that would somehow soothe himself a little bit. Deaton didn’t look convinced but both Peter and Chris looked like they might actually be concerned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter looked to Chris and for a moment Stiles thought that maybe this was all one grand joke. Were they playing a big joke on him just to see how he would react to him? Omega slaves had it even worse off-- if he was an Omega slave it meant that he was going to have even a more rough go of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris got closer and reached out, “Alright… Stiles-- just breathe for me…” He realized then that he was on the verge of what was probably another panic attack. The man had already witnessed one of those and another would no doubt put him in the category of the mentally insane. That wasn’t a category that most slaves wanted to be put in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What… how…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Peter who spoke this time, “We’re trying to figure that out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles still wasn’t sure that he believed it and began to pull at his fingers in a nervous movement, unsure of what else to do. How could the fact that he was an Omega be hidden from him for so many years? He was still having a hard time breathing and he began to pull harder at his fingers, caring little if he hurt himself in the process.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even without thinking about it, Chris moved forward, his hand moving between his two and taking a hold of one of his to stop his nervous movement. The larger hand helped to pull him slightly out of his thoughts for just a moment. It gave him something else to focus on. Chris spoke softly, “You haven’t bought anything on your own?” He asked softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The slave shook his head, “I… I… Would have bought oranges.” It was a lame remark but it’s all he could think of in the moment. If he’d had any money or an opportunity to buy what he wanted, it would have been something like that. It must have been the right thing to say however, because he caught the smile on Chris’ face and Peter’s smug look from the corner of his eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deaton looked puzzled, “It’s impossible for you to not have been exposed to it all this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles panicked, “I’m not lying!” He probably shouldn’t have spoken so loudly but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t going to be punished just because some man he didn’t know decided his story was a lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris’ hold on his hand tightened, “No one thinks you are lying… I believe Deaton is simply trying to figure out how else you are getting exposed.” At some point Peter had taken a couple of steps closer to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I…” Stiles’ hand flew up to his neck where the metal locket laid. He didn’t want to give the item up, but he knew if he wasn’t forthcoming that he might not be able to negotiate for it back at all. “I want this back…” He said before he was taking it off and holding back. “My dad… My dad gave it to me… before we got separated. He told me I couldn’t ever take it off. No matter what.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris released his hand only so that he could take the locket from him, “I’ll get it back to you, I promise.” He said the words before he handed it over to Deaton, “One piece, please.” He said in a much more stern voice than the one he used with Stiles. Once it was handed over, Stiles was relieved to feel Chris’ fingers tangle with his own once more. Somehow the motion felt natural in a way he couldn’t explain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deaton turned the locket over in his hand, examining the item while Peter kept a close eye on him. He hummed softly in consideration, looking at the worn stone that was embedded in the back, “Has this stone been wearing away steadily, Stiles?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles nodded his head in reply, “Yeah… I’ve always worried it’d go away fully…” He admitted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever this is made with-- I think it’s mixed with the powder.” Deaton said as he looked up and fully at Stiles. He couldn’t help but look away, his eyes moving to Chris’ and his hands. That seemed like a much safer place to look. Peter approached them then and Stiles noticed the way that Peter’s hand easily found its way to Chris’ neck in an almost protective way. It almost felt like a united front. For him? He doubted it, but it was nice anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I…” Stiles swallowed roughly, unsure of what to say. Chris interrupted him before he could get any more words out. “You don’t need to say anything else right now, Stiles. We’re figuring it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles nodded his head, but he had to admit that it hadn’t even sunk in. Him as an Omega wasn’t something he was even prepared to wrap his head around. He dropped his eyes down further, his head sinking slightly. As if in response, he felt warm fingers brush across his neck-- moving in a motion that had been similar to the way they had been on Chris’.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay there it is... And poor Peter was a little left out last chapter so he got some stuff this chapter. I should probably make him meaner but eh. Do you guys want the link to the spotify playlist where I add songs when I feel like it? It's not very long right now but I do add songs periodically mostly when I am writing.</p>
<p>Also please don't hate on Papa Noah, he's actually one of my most favorite characters and he did what he had to do for his son. I stand by it, I embrace it. #justfornoahstilikski if anyone tries to get angry at him, even my boys Chris and Peter.</p>
<p>I am trying to post once a week right now, but please do not hold me to that cause god knows something will come up and I will falter. But if we are lucky, I will stick to it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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